


Idio(ma)tic

by BertholdvonMoosburg



Series: Breaking the Ice [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, College Student Yuri Plisetsky, DJ Otabek Altin, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Identity Reveal, Insecure Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, M/M, Original Character(s), Otabek is good for Yuri, Outtakes, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Rated Teen for Copious Cussing, Retirement, SkyGem Retirement Challenge, Sorry JJ, Supportive Chris Giacometti, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Trans Male Character, Trans Yuri Plisetsky, Victor and Yuuri troll Yurio, YOI!Lambiel, You get to be the unintentional villain, Yuri makes friends, Yuuri sells his soul, katsudon, not really - Freeform, puns, retail peon POV, weird customers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BertholdvonMoosburg/pseuds/BertholdvonMoosburg
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky has been dragged off to America to live in humble obscurity as a common undergraduate student in an everyday dorm. He even has a roommate. Maybe it'll be a while before his Angels track him down. If he's lucky, anyway.Combining the life of Russia's Ice Tiger with his new academic life isn't easy to handle on his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkyGem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyGem/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my third foray into SkyGem's fantabulous sandbox. I think it's high time I dedicate a story to her.
> 
> I am not going to translate all of the Russian in this one. I have googled more creative Russian profanity than I probably will ever need. If I don't put a translation at the end, just fill in swears of your choice, or google it.
> 
> Sarah, I promised you The Poster. Here it is.
> 
> Chapter 2 of this work will be a sort of Director's Cut/Deleted Scenes that didn't fit into the main story but were too entertaining to not write.

Jonas was in the middle of stuffing his socks in the top drawer to his new dresser when the door of the dorm room slammed open with a loud bang. A slender figure followed the noise into the room, top half obscured by a large box.

As Jonas looked up, two more figures followed with their own boxes.  Each deposited his box on the bare bed on the other side of the room, and Jonas got a better look at them.  The first, and youngest man - his new roommate, he assumed - sported long, blond hair, a leather jacket with leopard-print sleeves, and a scowl. He looked a little older than the rest of the freshmen moving in, but it was hard to tell with his features.  The other two were both older and beaming.  The taller had features similar to his new roommate, with a face that looked a bit too young for his grey head of hair.  The shorter man was Asian, with dark hair and warm smile.

Jonas listened to them talking in some foreign language.  The two older men gestured at the door and turned to go bring more boxes.  His roommate gave a huffy sigh and sat himself on the bed.

“I’m Jonas,” he said, sticking out his hand.

“Yuri,” was the response.  The young man grimaced and took Jonas’ hand to shake.

“I guess we’re roommates,” Jonas continued, feeling a little lame.

“Yes. I asked for a single room, but the university said first-years all share.  And there’s some stupid policy about living in dorms too.”

Russian! He was Russian. Jonas wasn’t familiar with the language, but he’d seen Rocky IV enough times to recognise the accent. Yuri didn’t sound much friendlier than Ivan Drago, too.

“Um. Well, I hope we get along.  I’m a morning person, but I’ll try not to disturb you. I’m going to be in the chemical engineering program.” Jonas laughed awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“Biology. You better not keep me up at night,  _ da _ ?”

Just then the two older men returned with more boxes.  “Yura!  You’ve met your roommate?” said the shorter one cheerfully.  Yuri (Yura?) grunted.

Depositing his box on the bed again, forcing Yuri to stand, the other man held out his hand to Jonas with a brilliant smile. “I’m Victor,” he said, and Jonas felt his knees go slightly weak. “We are helping Yurio move in!”

Yuri (Yura? Yurio?) growled angrily.  “How many times do I have to tell you that’s not my name?” he practically shouted.

The Asian man attempted to put a consoling hand on the young man’s arm, but was shaken off. He shrugged, seeming unconcerned, and held a hand out to Jonas. “I’m Yuri,” he said.  “Not Yuri, it sounds a little different in Japanese.” Jonas tried and failed to catch the difference. “So sometimes we use different-”

“Shut up, Katsudon,” Yuri snapped. “I’m Yuri here. No one better steal my name again.”

“Yuurra,” Victor purred, draping himself over the younger man’s shoulders. “Is that any way to talk to your  _ papochka _ ?”

“He’s not my dad, old man! Get off! Go get more of my stuff and be useful or something!”

The Japanese Yuri suppressed a chuckle and tugged on his companion’s arm. “Vitya, come on, there are still a couple boxes and the suitcase.”

The two men left again, arm in arm.  Yuri threw himself into the decrepit old desk chair on his side of the room with a disgusted sound.

“That’s your old man, then?” Jonas asked tentatively.

Yuri grunted. “He and his husband are so annoying.  And disgusting. They’re making me be here. Russia was fine, but then the Katsudon has this idea to move out here for another stupid degree so of course the geezer has to come too, and if I want to come I have to study as well.  My  _ dedushka _ , my grandpa, he said it was a good plan. Traitor.”

“That sucks, man.”

The two older men returned once more. 

“Alright, Yura, that’s everything,” Japanese Yuri said. “We got your textbooks sorted out yesterday, so you should be fine there. You have our numbers, so call if you need anything.”

“Yeah, sure, Katsudon,” was the indifferent reply.

Jonas noticed the elder Russian’s eyes getting a bit teary, but his husband tugged him out, murmuring in Russian and - was that Japanese too?

As they left, Jonas’ new roommate began opening boxes and roughly shoving clothes into drawers.  This was going to be fun.

 

***

 

When Jonas woke up the next day to his 7am alarm, he stretched and rolled over.  He was surprised to note that his roommate was already gone.  The unmade bed stared back at him, not the least bit forthcoming as to the whereabouts of its occupant. Jonas shrugged and figured he’d see Yuri in the dining hall or at one of the orientation activities.

He did not.

In fact, his roommate only reappeared that evening.  Jonas returned to the room to grab a jacket and found Yuri on his bed, texting. Trying to make friends, he offered “Some of us are going down to the common room to play ping-pong, you wanna come?”

“ _ Ne _ , I’ve been up since five,” Yuri replied. “I’m going to bed.  Don’t wake me when you come back.”

And Jonas thought  _ he  _ was an early bird.

The next morning, Yuri was gone again, not reappearing until evening.  He'd started decorating his side of the room, though. Above his bed was a poster of a large white tiger in the snow, and by his desk there was… Jonas wasn't actually sure what it was. It was blurry, and appeared to be a man (probably?) in a terrible red sequined cat costume wearing skates. There was a signature scrawled in the corner but Jonas couldn't make it out. Maybe someone had done a rendition of Cats as an ice show or something? He was looking forward to seeing what posters were for sale in the student centre the following week.

Jonas asked about the Cat-Man that evening when Yuri got back. His grumpy roommate gave him a look that seemed to suggest Jonas was probably too dumb to be at university and said “He’s the spin king” very slowly and condescendingly. As if that should explain everything.

 

***

 

By the time classes started the following week, Jonas knew a few more things about his roommate:

  1. He liked cats. Like, a lot. Any cats, all cats.  
  2. Cats made up a large portion of his wardrobe.
  3. Despite that, he somehow looked great every day. It wasn’t _American_ fashion, but it was stylish nonetheless.
  4. He got up at stupid o’clock every day but the weekends.
  5. He was really, _really_ angry if you woke him up.



He never saw Yuri in the dining hall or in the common areas. Jonas was beginning to wonder how he had lucked into the most anti-social roommate ever to attend college. 

He was also utterly terrifying when woken at night. Jonas was glad it hadn’t been him who’d been running up and down the hall at 1am Wednesday night. He himself had been curled up in bed just trying to ignore the noise when he heard a rustle from the other bed, followed by a loud bang and a rush of light from the open door.

“ _ Ty che, blyad! _ ” he heard Yuri bellow. Jonas got out from under his blankets and went to the door to watch. Or prevent a murder. Not that he thought he’d be very effective.

The culprits, two boys and three girls who pulled to a stop near the irate Russian, were laughing breathlessly and clutching each other, staggering a little. Yuri’s rage didn’t seem to faze them, but then, Jonas figured, they’d probably never seen him before. Yuri took two steps toward them, backing one of the boys against the wall. The boy smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, causing the others with him to giggle.

“I am trying to sleep,” Yuri gritted out.

“So?”

And then Jonas blinked - he would swear it was only a single blink - and Yuri’s bare foot slammed into the wall beside the boy’s head, not three inches from his ear.

“ _ Tvaya mama sasyot korrovie khuyee, govniuk blyad _ ,” the Russian hissed. “I have to get up in the morning before the fucking sun. So shut. the. hell. up. or I will turn you into fucking borscht,  _ zhopa _ . I will shove my shoes so far up your ass your breath will smell like shoe polish.”

The threats would have sounded comical, but for two things: the look on his face which said  _ I am serious and you will feel pain _ , and his foot at ear-height on an adult human.

“Dude, chill,” one of the girls said.

Yuri shot her a withering glare. “I am  _ chill  _ when I’ve gotten my sleep.” And he somehow whirled around in one smooth movement so that both feet were back on the floor, and stalked back toward Jonas. Jonas looked at the slightly stunned group and gave a shrug, trying to communicate that he had no clue either.

Yuri stalked past him into their room, then paused, turned, and yanked Jonas by the elbow into the room.  Then he shut the door.  “ _ Baka _ ,” Jonas heard him hissing under his breath. “ _ Blyad _ . Fucking Katsudon. Fucking Victor. Fuck this school.”

“Um,” Jonas interrupted hesitantly.

“What.”

“I, uh, have some earplugs if you want them. My mom packed them for me, but I haven’t used them. If you want. I mean, those guys’re probably gone now, but just in case?”

Yuri stared at him, and Jonas thought perhaps it was the first time where his roommate looked at him and saw an actual person.

“ _ Da _ . Yes. Please. That would be… nice.” Without any anger in his voice, the Russian accent was much softer.

So Jonas pulled a box out from under his bed and rummaged around, emerging quickly with a pharmacy-brand pack of bright yellow earplugs. He tossed them to his roommate. The Russian caught them and tore the pack open. He carefully stuck them in his ears and turned his head from side to side, adjusting to the silence, and then nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

And then he was buried beneath his blankets again, facing away. Jonas shrugged and got back into his own bed. Better than being kicked in the face. 

As he was drifting off, his mind flashed back to the image of Yuri’s foot up by the other guy’s ear.  It hadn’t registered at the time, what with everything, but the foot had looked  _ thrashed _ . Bruises of every age covered Yuri’s foot - both feet, when he thought about it. Jonas had no idea what would do that to a foot, or what would possess a person to permit it. Maybe martial arts? Was Yuri a ninja? Trying to figure out what would do that to a person’s feet kept him up much later than he preferred, and when we woke after sleeping in all the way till nine, Yuri was long gone.

 

***

 

On the weekend, he actually woke before his roommate.  Jonas shuffled down to the dining hall for breakfast. On impulse, as he was leaving, he poured a second coffee into a to-go cup and grabbed a couple creamers and sugar packets.  If Yuri didn’t want it, he could always drink it himself.

Yuri was awake when he got back, video chatting on his laptop. Jonas couldn’t see the other person; they were both speaking Russian, and Yuri was… smiling. Actually smiling. The tone of voice suggested he was complaining, but his posture was relaxed and he appeared to be having a good time.  Yuri’s head turned round when Jonas entered, looking suspicious, and the conversation fell silent.  _ Suspicious of what? _ , Jonas thought.

He held out the coffee. “I picked you up one since you were going to miss breakfast,” he said quietly. Yuri’s hand silently stretched out to grab the paper cup. “Here’s cream and sugar,” he added, dropping them on the desk. “I’ll, uh, be going to shower now, so don’t worry about me interrupting you.” And he grabbed his towel and toiletries bag and left.

When he returned, clean, shaved, and still wary, Yuri was done his conversation and was sipping the coffee. And while he wasn’t smiling anymore, he wasn’t glaring either, which Jonas took as a good sign.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he said. “I should not miss breakfast.”

_ Like you do every day because you wake up at five? _ Jonas wanted to ask, but knew better. Instead he shrugged and said nothing. He hadn’t been growled at since the earplugs incident, and Yuri seemed to be in a positively sunny mood compared to usual.  Before his brain caught up with itself, he blurted “I’m meeting some guys from another floor in the tv room this afternoon at two. Mikkel and Dave booked the tv for a few hours and T brought his Wii so we’re going to plug it in. Uh.” His voice trailed off.

Yuri looked at first like he might refuse, but then he sighed. “Classes haven’t started yet so I have the day off. That might be fun. Everyone I used to game with is back in Russia, except the Katsudon, and then I have to put up with him being gross with his husband.” That last word was said in tones of deep disgust. 

“Awesome. So, uh, meet us there, I guess?”

To Jonas’ surprise, Yuri blushed red and muttered “I don’t know where the tv room is.” His tone dared Jonas to laugh.

Jonas, fortunately, knew better. “Okay, how about meet me in the dining hall at 1:50 and I’ll show you.” He’d just figured Yuri was in different orientation groups than he was, but if he didn’t know where the tv room was  _ in their own dorm _ , where had he been all week? Maybe he should show him the other important rooms? Yuri would need to do laundry eventually.  _ Oh god _ , Jonas thought suddenly.  _ He  _ will  _ do laundry, right? _

When Jonas went down for lunch later on, he was surprised again, this time at seeing Yuri in the food service area. His roommate was glowering at the available options. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the grumpy Russian picked out some fish, brown rice, and steamed carrots, and then headed over to the salad bar.

“... fries or mashed potatoes with that?” He tuned back in and shook himself.

“Fries, please,” he replied.

When he moved into the seating area, he noticed Yuri sitting at a table by himself.  Jonas was tempted to go sit with him, but worried he’d be pushing his luck on the “Yuri isn’t growling at me” front, so he sat with some guys from the floor below them instead who he’d met at an orientation session.

At 1:50, Yuri appeared beside their table. “Alright, show me where this tv room is,  _ da _ ?” he asked.

Jonas’ companions looked taken aback as he said a cheery “Catch you later, guys,” and got up to leave with Yuri.

Jonas, Yuri, Mikkel, and Dave spent the next few hours playing Wii Mario Kart. Yuri was aloof at first when Jonas introduced him, but as he settled in, he stopped scowling and… smiled? He was laughing? And he turned out to be hella competitive. Jonas braced himself for the explosion when Dave tossed a blue shell his way right before the finish line and he was bumped from first place to last, but Yuri took it in stride. He silently exhaled the breath he’d been holding in. 

“What? I like to win, but it’s just Mario Kart,” he said defensively when he noticed Jonas’ expression.

In all, it was a good afternoon, and in the end Yuri joined them for dinner. His meal was as exciting as his lunch had been, but Jonas, again, thought better of commenting. With all the options available to him, Jonas would never have selected such a disgustingly healthy meal, but he didn’t want to mess with the fragile camaraderie that the game had introduced. He didn’t have any illusions that roommates were destined to be best friends or anything, but it would be nice if they could come to a friendship at all, or failing that, at least a solid truce.

 

***

 

The next morning, Jonas was woken to the sound of his roommate’s phone ringing. Checking his own, it was 8am. When Yuri finally was awake enough to answer it a moment later, Jonas felt a shot of adrenaline ruin him for any further sleeping.

“ _Ahueyet?_ _Poshyel k chyertu, starik!_ ” Yuri was shouting. “ _Poshol nahuj!_ It’s Sunday! I don’t care! I was sleeping! No, I am not coming! _Otvali!_ Your pig of a husband is still sleeping himself, I’m not stupid! I will be there at ten, like we agreed! _Jri govno i zdohni_.” And then he threw his phone across the room, where it bounced off the dresser and onto the carpet. Yuri threw himself back onto his bed with a strangled sound of rage.

Jonas had no idea what any of the Russian had meant, but he suspected his roommate could give a full senior-level course on swearing in Russian. His mind boggled at the thought of talking to his own parents like that. He couldn’t even  _ imagine  _ the consequences he’d face if he screamed profanities at his dad and talked about his step-mom with such overt contempt.

He had no idea what to say, so he just pretended he’d slept through it all, and listened to his roommate get up, rummage angrily through his stuff, and stomp out of the room.

Jonas called his parents back in Delaware that afternoon. It had been a whole week, after all. His step-mom asked how he was getting along with his roommate, and he hardly knew how to answer.

“He’s, um, Russian. He likes cats a lot. He's in biology, but he's never here. We're all supposed to be doing orientation stuff but I'm not sure he's been going. He's really angry a lot, and rude.”

His mom made a sympathetic sound. “He better not be nasty to you or I'll have to have a word with the registrar.”

“Mom, no!” Jonas replied. “He's actually ok to me, at least so far. We played Mario Kart yesterday with a couple other guys. Don't butt in.”

He talked for a while longer, then said hi to his little sister who was 12 and just young enough to still hero-worship her big brother, until it was time for dinner 

 

***

 

When classes began the following day, Jonas found himself too busy to care much about his volatile roommate. He’d been gone again when Jonas woke up, and they didn’t see each other all day. At 8pm, the door opened and Yuri walked in, dumping his books on his desk and groaning.

“I’m going for a shower, and then it better be quiet in here because I have reading to do,” he growled. Damn, the growling was back. 

Yuri grabbed his towel and toiletries and left.

Twenty minutes later, Jonas was disturbed by a quiet knock at the door. He got up and opened it, to find his roommate wearing a towel and an expression of enraged chagrin. ( _ Was that even possible? _ thought Jonas absently.) 

And holy shit he was ripped. He was so skinny it took Jonas completely by surprise.

“Forgot my keys,” Yuri muttered as he entered. “And my clothes. Laugh and I’ll stab you in your sleep.”

“I did that during orientation,” Jonas offered. “I was in the shower and the fire alarm went off. Stupid drill. I didn’t have time to get dressed, so it was just me in my bathrobe. It was fucking  _ cold  _ that morning, man.”

Yuri looked at him. The edge of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and then sighed.

“You could have gotten dressed. If the fire wasn’t in the shower with you, you probably would have had time.”

“Yeah, well, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.”

Yuri nodded. “ _ Soglasen _ . Uh. I think ‘that makes sense’?”

Jonas grinned. “I’m pretty useless before my coffee, even though I like mornings.”

Yuri shook his head, then turned to find himself clothing from his dresser. He dropped his towel to get dressed and Jonas noticed he was trans. He must’ve known early, since there were no scars on his bafflingly muscular torso. Well, no pectoral scars. His hip was bruised as fuck, though. Geez. Jonas turned away to give his roommate some privacy.

The Russian, now fully dressed, sat himself at his desk. He eyed his textbooks with distaste. Pushing aside the one that read “Introductory Physics”, he opened the other, simply titled “ZOOLOGY”, and sighed again.

They both read for most of an hour, the silence punctuated only by the sound of highlighters squeaking along the page and the rustle of paper.

“Jonas,” Yuri spoke suddenly. “What is ‘beating a dead horse’? My professor said this today and it is not familiar to me.”

Jonas started. “Oh, ah, it sort of means going over something again and again, past when the discussion is useful.”

“Ah,” was the reply.

At ten o’clock, Yuri put his book down. “I am going to bed now. I’m turning the light off. Don’t be noisy.”

Jonas looked over at him. Yuri grimaced and looked slightly apologetic. “I… Can you put a lamp on, I would like to turn out the light. Please don’t be noisy.”

He swallowed a grin at his roommate’s uncharacteristic politeness. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be going to bed soon anyway. It’s almost pumpkin hour.”

Yuri froze and turned toward him with a bewildered expression.

“Pumpkin hour,” Jonas repeated. “Like in the fairy tale, right? When Cinderella’s carriage turns back into a pumpkin at midnight? I’m not good at staying up late, I’ll turn into a pumpkin. Okay, I know. I’m a huge geek. Sorry. It’s a terrible joke.”

“Pumpkin hour,” his roommate repeated slowly. “Pumpkin hour. Ha!  _ Zabavnyy _ !”

When the light was off, Yuri called over “ _ Dobroi nochi _ . Good night.”

 

***

 

In the days and weeks that followed, Yuri continued to be somewhat of a phantom roommate. Except for the weekends, Jonas never saw him during the day. Yuri would return, generally around 8 or 9pm, would study for a while, and then sleep. He would be gone again before Jonas woke up. The Russian only had two courses, he had learned, which left Jonas even more baffled as to where he  _ was  _ all day.  

Jonas didn’t  _ mind _ , per se, since a roommate who was never there could hardly disrupt any naps or stink up the room. It was just odd. They got on well enough that he was pretty sure it couldn’t be him that was the problem (Mikkel had reassured Jonas that he wasn’t carrying some ungodly stench around that he couldn’t detect himself). And most weekends they gamed and had meals together, so it wasn’t like Yuri hated him the way he seemed to hate his dads. Eventually he even seemed to feel comfortable enough skyping with… whoever it was he skyped with… when Jonas was in the room. They spoke in Russian so it wasn’t like Jonas could understand anyway, but he understood the gesture for what it was. Considering all the terrible roommate situations you saw in movies, Yuri seemed pretty ok aside from the occasional growling.

Jonas had joked one evening to his roommate about the impossibly early mornings he kept so reliably, when even he, a self-declared morning person, found it tough to make it to his 8am class twice a week. Yuri just looked at him and said “I need the time.  _ Kto rano vstayot, tomu bog podayot _ . In Russian, ‘he who gets up early, God gives to him’.”

“Ah,” Jonas answered. “I guess in English it’s ‘the early bird gets the worm’.”

“That is a stupid expression.”

“Yeah, I can’t argue. But it’s what we say for some reason.”

They looked at each other, and Jonas couldn’t help a small laugh. He could swear he saw his roommate smile a little, too.

It was well into October when Jonas learned that not everyone saw the situation the same as he did. 

He was studying in the lounge one evening when Yuri passed through on the way to their room. He held his hand up in greeting and Yuri did the same. He was back to his textbook when five minutes later one of his friends from down the hall plopped down into the plush chair next to him.

“Sorry about your roommate, man,” Brian said.

“Ehh?” Jonas replied eloquently.

“Sorry about your roommate,” the other repeated. “He’s hot but he’s kind of a jerk. Probably thinks that lets him get away with anything. Sorry you got stuck with him.”

Jonas just stared, not sure how to reply.

“I mean, he’s always angry and threatening people and shit. Zach won’t go on your floor anymore since that asshole almost kicked him in the face for being a little loud during orientation week. Housing won’t get rid of him; they just made him write a letter apologising. Fucking letter said - and let me quote this for you - ‘I’m sorry my dainty ballerina foot scared you.’ That’s not even an apology  _ without  _ the insult! And you’re an okay dude, so I feel bad for you.”

Jonas shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t wake him up, and he’s fun to game with. It’s not like he’s ever really around during the day anyway. It’s not so bad.”

“Well, I think you should get, like, a medal or a sainthood or something, putting up with that weirdo. Anyway, Xavier has the tv booked on Thursday night to…”

Jonas relaxed a little as the conversation turned to more neutral topics, and he tried to forget his discomfort about being lauded for tolerating his roommate.

 

***

 

He was rushing along late to his calculus lab the following Monday when he glanced across the quad and nearly ran himself into a tree. That long blond hair was pretty distinctive and that was most definitely his notoriously scowly roommate sitting under a tree with… his step-dad? Smiling and laughing? The man Yuri referred to exclusively as “Katsudon” (barring the occasional “your pig of a husband” when he was yelling at his dad) was braiding his hair in some complicated pattern.

Jonas didn’t care that he was late anymore. He slunk back against the building beside him and stared. He listened intently to try to catch their conversation.

Yuri was gesticulating as he told a story of some sort in Russian, and Japanese Yuri had to pause his braiding so he could lean over laughing. The blond turned to give the Katsudon a death glare over his shoulder. The older man waved a hand in apology but did not stop grinning. He turned his attention back to Yuri’s hair and finished the complicated-looking braiding.

Katsudon passed Yuri a small box and took one out for himself. Both men rummaged in their bags and came out with chopsticks. Jonas watched his roommate open the box and cover his mouth in delight. “ _ Koty! _ ” he heard him exclaim. 

Katsudon grinned and nodded, holding out his own box. “ _ Da! _ I did mine as a puppy! Vitya got really sad when I showed him, but I’d already done his as a little panda.”

Yuri snorted. 

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Jonas had not thought his roommate would be so handy with chopsticks. Although, they  _ were  _ a discreet and disguisable instrument for stabbing, so maybe it made sense after all.

“Katsudon,” Yuri asked. “I’m having trouble interpreting my physics book again. Could you help me out this weekend with it?”

The Japanese man looked a bit nervous. “I’m in the Arts faculty, Yura. I’m pretty good with English, but you probably would do better with an actual science tutor.”

Yuri scowled. ( _ Ah, there it was again.  _ Jonas had been starting to miss it _. _ ) “I don’t want some asshole American who’s going to sneer at me. I’m not stupid! I just can’t figure out what the fucking English means fast enough! I get the physics stuff, it’s not like I haven’t been living all this rotational mechanics and shit my whole damn life. Besides, you understand how to translate it to me.”

He poked Katsudon with his chopstick. The older man winced. ( _ More evidence for my stabbing hypothesis _ , Jonas laughed in his head.) “Katsudon, you’re not in physics but you  _ do  _ physics just as much as I do, and you’ve done it longer. So don’t play dumb. I need help on this and you’re going to help me,  _ da _ ?”

Japanese Yuri sighed. “Alright, Yura. I still think you’d be better off with someone who knows what they’re talking about, but I’ll try. How long do you think we can send Victor out before he gets suspicious and wants to help?”

“Ha. Send him to get groceries. You know what he’s like in American supermarkets. You’ll be lucky to get him back before dinner.”

The older man chuckled. “And you’ll take the ten bags of food that won’t fit in the kitchen for us? Alright. I’ll figure something out. But I have to get going now, I have class in twenty minutes and I need to pick up a coffee. The professor is awful and I keep almost falling asleep. I’ll see you tonight.”

Jonas turned away as the two figures got up.  He resumed his walk to class, or at least, in the direction of the class he should have been in but was now half over so what was the point.

That had to be one of the most bewildering conversations he’d ever witnessed.

 

***

 

Jonas, Mikkel, and Dave were in the tv room hooking up the Wii for another afternoon of Mario Kart. The newest Mass Effect release had kept them on their computers for the past few weeks of gaming, and it was time for a break for something different.

They were about to start a round without Yuri when the door opened and he danced in.  There was no other word for it. He had wireless headphones on and his eyes were looking at something far from the tv room. They watched curiously as he bent his knees and dropped his shoulders, then smoothly spun around.  They watched in shock as he casually kicked his leg above his head. When he bent backwards almost flat to the floor before coming back upright with a jerk of his arm that looked like an overhand throw, they were in awe.  Every motion had been controlled and fluid.

“Holy shit, dude!” shouted Mikkel. 

Yuri started, and tripped over a chair.

“Fuck!”

“Sorry!”

“Fucking warn a guy! I don’t go shouting at you, making you fall over chairs!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Whatever.” He turned, ‘Look, Jonas, I’m going to be away for a few days next Tuesday. I’m not dead, so don’t call the cops and don’t go fucking around with my stuff, got it?”

“Sure, man,” Jonas replied. “A week? In the middle of term?”

“Gonna be in Atlanta with the old man. The Katsudon can’t come, says he can’t miss any classes. Like it’s more important than me.”

Dave laughed and choked at the same time. The other three looked at him.

“Sorry,” he said, coughing a bit. “‘The Katsudon’? I’m confused. Are we talking about a person, here, or a food?”

Yuri’s grin was malicious. “His favourite food is katsudon. He’s a pig.”

“He’s one of Yuri’s dads,” explained Jonas.

“He’s  _ not my dad! _ ” Yuri growled.

“Okay, he’s Yuri’s old man’s husband.”

“Geezer,” muttered Yuri.

“Yuri doesn’t like him much.”

“He’s a loser.”

Dave laughed. “Must be why he eats katsudon so much!”

Yuri made a questioning sound.

“It’s a pun, a Japanese pun. My grandma used to make katsudon for me when I was in little league. She said it would help me win. My dad said she did it for him, too. I asked him why and he said that the ‘katsu’ in katsudon is the exact same sound as the verb ‘katsu’, which means ‘to win’.”

Yuri looked first interested, then annoyed, then disgusted.

“I’ve been calling him a winner the whole time?”

“Basically,” Dave confirmed. 

Yuri’s eyes went wide. Jonas struggled to label the expression on his face.

“Wait,” he said slowly. His tone was of deep horror. “Would it be the same in a name like ‘Katsuki’? It’s the same, isn’t it.”

Dave shrugged. “Probably.”

“Victory,” Yuri whispered.

Dave nodded.

“The name means ‘victor’.”

Dave nodded again, now puzzled. “More or less.”

“ _ Nu vse, tebe pizda. Poshyel k chyertu. Potselui mu zhopy! ZHRI GOVNO I ZDOHNI! _ ” And with a scream of pure rage, he picked up one of the lounge’s chairs and threw it halfway across the room.

It was Dave’s turn to fall off a chair.

Yuri was shouting curses in Russian and kicking one of the other chairs repeatedly.

His friends just watched as he abused the chair, not daring to intervene. Eventually he stopped to pant, hands curled in fists and shaking.

“That idiot geezer’s name is Victor. And he marries a Katsuki. Because. Of. COURSE. HE. WOULD.” He punctuated the last phrase with a series of kicks to the same poor chair.  The Russian spun to face Dave.

“Do a lot of Japanese people know this pun?” he demanded.

“Ummmm… yes?” said Dave hesitantly. “It’s a pretty famous one. Lots of people eat katsudon for luck before a contest? And Katsuki’s not a rare name, I think? My dad says the meaning of a kid’s name is a pretty important decision for most people.”

“So he knew.” It wasn’t a question.

“Wh-whoever ‘he’ is, if he’s named Katsuki, probably?”

More Russian curses followed, and then Yuri collapsed in the chair he’d been kicking, his face now looking haunted.

“Jonas,” whispered Dave, “what…  what just happened?”

“His dad’s name is Victor,” Jonas whispered back. “His dad’s husband, the guy he calls Katsudon, his name is Yuri Katsuki.”

“And this Yuri is Japanese?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

The room was silent for a while.

“Jonas,” whispered Dave again.

“Yeah?”

“It’s not Yuri, it’s Yuri.”

“ _ I can’t tell them apart. _ It sounds the same to me!”

“Yuri, Yuri. Listen to the U sound, they’re different, one’s longer. Yuri, Yuri. Yuri, Yuri. Yuri, Yuuri.”

There it was. Finally. 

“Um, guys?” It was Mikkel, who had wisely remained silent through the whole scene. “Can we just play some Mario Kart?”

Yuri took a deep breath. “Yes. I need to pretend I never learned this. Let’s game.”

His eyes kept that haunted look all afternoon, though by the end of it he was smiling and crowing over his victory. Jonas reflected that puns were terrible, yes, but rarely induced that level of emotional explosion. 

 

***

 

Yuri left on Tuesday around lunchtime. Jonas had never seen him sleep in during the week before. It wasn’t much different from the weekends. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but something so apart from the normal routine seemed like it should  _ feel  _ different. At 10, while Jonas was settling down with a coffee and a lab write-up, Yuri’s alarm went off and he opened his eyes and stretched. Then he grinned.

“ _ Dobroye utro _ , Jo,” he said. “Good morning.”

Jonas gave a cautious “Good morning” in reply.

“I got to sleep. in.” Yuri said. “It’s a great morning.”

He busied himself with his toiletries and went off for a shower. Returning, he pulled a small suitcase out from the top shelf of the cupboard and began packing it.

“You didn’t pack already? Aren’t you leaving in, like, an hour and a half?”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t take me long. Lots of practice.” 

Within ten minutes, his clothes were packed. In fifteen, so were his toiletries, shoes, and his tablet. Jonas had to admire his efficiency.

“Not bringing your textbooks? Don’t you have an exam next Wednesday?”

Yuri grunted. “Won’t have time.”

Jonas felt a pang of envy. He’d love to go on vacation in the middle of term and be so unconcerned about his grades. Either Yuri was a genius or he didn’t actually give a fuck about his classes, and the dedication on display most nights as they studied didn’t point to the latter.

“Been studying already,” Yuri continued. “Davis won’t defer the exam till later so I don’t have a choice. At least Klompf is giving me an extension on my lab next week.”

That explained a bit and created possibly more questions.

The Russian zipped up his suitcase and sat back on his bed. He pulled his phone out and tapped at it. He looked relaxed, but something about his posture gave Jonas the impression of excitement and anticipation.

Around 11:30, Yuri’s phone rang.

“ _ Da? _ ” he answered.

Then his expression soured.

“Fucking shit,  _ dad _ , it’s not going to kill you to wait a minute. I know it’s cold, the fucking convertible was your choice. I wasn’t going to wait outside like some  _ mudak _ .”

He paused, listening.

“I was packed half a fucking hour ago.  _ Some  _ of us don’t need to pack ten face creams and three outfits per day. I’m on my way out. You better not have forgotten any of my gear, geezer, or I’ll kill you in the airport and you’ll never see Atlanta and Katsudon will be sad.”

Yuri, now scowling, stood and grabbed the handle of his suitcase.

“Yeah, I said that. You’ll break your precious husband’s heart if you commit suicide by fucking forgetting any of my stuff.”

He jabbed at his phone, then looked over at Jonas.

“Wish me luck. I have to spend most of a week with  _ him _ .”

“Good luck?” Jonas offered.

Yuri grunted again. “Bye.”

And he was gone.

 

***

 

Yuri returned on Saturday night in a great mood. He was smiles and high-fives to anyone he met over the rest of the weekend. (Mikkel got a bit freaked out by it.) He was gone most of Sunday, but spent Monday and Tuesday moving between the common room, dining hall, and their bedroom with his physics textbook and notes and his headphones, cramming for his last midterm.

Wednesday afternoon, Yuri burst into their room. 

“Jonas!” he shouted.

Jonas looked up from his notes. 

“Text Mikkel and Dave! We’re going out for dinner. Fuck this all.” Despite his tone, he was smiling. “It’s on me, you assholes just need to come.”

Jonas pulled out his phone. “Exam went well?”

“Killed it,” Yuri smirked. He stripped off his shirt and started pulling out different clothes. He pulled on a black tee with a tiger on the front and went over to their sink to put on dark eye makeup. He pulled his hair up into a messy half-bun, and somehow it  _ worked  _ with the rest of his outfit. Yuri wasn’t his type, but Jonas could see hot when it stood in front of him. 

They met Mikkel and Dave outside the dorm and caught the bus. The restaurant had low lighting and good food. They were deciding on a dessert when Yuri’s eyes went wide with panic.

He slumped down in his chair and pulled the dessert menu over his face.

“ _ Govno. Govno govno govno govno _ ,” he moaned. “Tell me one of you guys has cologne or something on you. Right now.”

The desperation in his voice was obvious, but none of them could help. Yuri bit his lower lip, thinking.

“Okay. Listen close. Here’s my credit card. Get the attention of anyone you can, and pay. Just sign. Pretend you’re me. I don’t care. Leave a nice tip. Meet me in the Walgreens back by Main St. It’s an emergency. Just help me on this and don’t ask questions, or we’re all going to be in a world of pain.”

With that, he slunk out of his chair and moved quickly and quietly toward the exit and was gone. Jonas flagged down their server. He was sure it was obvious on his face that he was technically committing credit card fraud, but the server passed him the receipt without a second glance. Jonas added a sizeable tip and scrawled something illegible on the bottom. Then the three of them hurried out.

They all but raced down the street and found their friend outside the pharmacy.

Or rather, their noses found him.

He utterly reeked of cheap cologne, and had a new baseball cap tugged low over his face. His distinctive blond hair was crammed up under the hat, which bulged ominously. He waved them closer urgently.

“Ride’s on the way,” he hissed quietly. “Stand around me so it’s hard to see me from the sidewalk.”

The stench of the cologne was overpowering at close range, but they did what he said.

“ _ What _ is going on, Yuri?” Dave demanded. 

Yuri flapped his hands urgently. “Not so loud. Don't use my name. I have these stalkers, ok? I don't know how they find me but they do, they find me. If they see you with me they’ll trample you. I've even had them find me by  _ smell _ before.”

“Shit, man,” whispered Jonas.

“The Katsudon’s coming to pick me up. You guys too. I'm pretty sure she didn't see me so we might be safe.”

They huddled round the wanted man, trying to screen him from sight. The smell was intense but at least it made sense. It seemed like forever before Yuri’s step-dad pulled up in a navy sedan. He popped open the passenger door and waved at them.

Jonas looked around and whispered “There’s no one. Go.”

The four boys bolted the ten metres to the car and piled in.

Yuuri started driving. He turned to Yuri. “You’re sure it was an angel?” he demanded.

Yuri nodded grimly. “Ears, cat shirt, skate tattoo on her neck.”

“ _ Kuso _ . Did she see you?”

“I'm still here, aren't I?”

The Katsudon nodded. They drove in silence the rest of the way back to the dorm. When the arrived, the boys climbed out of the car, except for Yuri.

“I’m staying with them tonight,” he told Jonas. “Safer for everyone. If anyone asks about me, you don’t know me, you have no idea who I am.”

The three nodded and promised him. They felt like they had gotten caught up in something mysterious and dangerous, and it didn’t occur to them to do anything but to try to protect their friend from whoever was stalking him. That their angry, aggressive Russian friend, who never shied away from a conflict or a fight, had run and hid scared them.

 

***

 

Yuri texted his roommate the following day.

**Yuri:** Jo, did anyone come looking for me?

**Jonas:** No. At least I don’t think so.

**Y:** You would know if they had.

**J:** In that case, no.

**Y:** Then I think I’m safe. Be back at the usual time.

**Y:** Text *immediately* if someone comes.

**J:** I will.

 

Yuri did return on Sunday evening. He flopped exhaustedly into bed. Jonas felt a pang of relief deep in his stomach. He texted Mikkel and Dave to let them know too that they seemed to be in the clear. He felt irrationally that interrogating his roommate would be unwise. Perhaps too many spy movies had convinced him that “knowing too much” was dangerous. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to pry. And then again, perhaps it was the mob, in which case he  _ really  _ didn’t want to be involved. He did wish that he could talk to his parents about it, but he knew his step-mother would get all protective by proxy and insist he call the police. He wasn’t prepared to inflict his step-mom on Yuri, as much as he loved her.

Monday and Tuesday passed without incident, and by Tuesday evening Yuri had relaxed enough that he didn’t jump at every small noise. He worked late into the night to catch up on the lab report he had coming due, and disappeared before Jonas woke, just like he always had.

On Wednesday, Jonas was browsing the stacks in the science library when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and when he saw Yuri’s name on the screen, he hurried himself into a stairwell to answer. Yuri had never called before, only the occasional text.

“Jo?” the voice on the line was worried.

“Yeah, hey, what’s up?” he replied.

“Jo, where’s the hospital? How do I get to the hospital?”

“Whoa, are you hurt or something?”

“No,” Yuri answered hurriedly. “It’s Victor. He needs a hospital, he’s hurt. I remember your American ‘9-1-1’ but it’s not bad enough for that. Katsudon is already on his way over, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know where the hospital is either. Shit.  _ Shit _ .”

Jonas quickly googled and gave him the address and directions. He didn’t know why his roommate expected him to have a better idea where anything was than Yuri, since they’d been in the city only as long as each other, but people in a panic don’t always think logically.

“ _ Spasibo _ ,” Yuri told him. “Okay, Katsudon’s here, gotta go.”

Jonas worried all the rest of the day. He was extremely relieved when Yuri kicked in the door that evening, earlier than usual. He had gotten to liking his roommate, despite what Brian and Zach insisted, and the past week had been pretty stressful.

“How’s your old man?” he asked as the blond kicked off his shoes, through his bag down, and sunk face down onto his bed.

A muffled sound answered him.

Then Yuri turned his head in Jonas’ direction.

“Better than he deserves, idiot old geezer. He just will not admit he’s gotten older and can’t do stuff anymore. Fucked up his elbow and his hip. Hip’ll be fine, but the elbow still needs x-rays. The doctor is pretty sure it’s not broken.” He paused and grinned. “Katsudon’s with him. Poor bastard. Victor’s on some pretty good shit right now for the pain. He keeps trying to strip and the pig and the nurses have to convince him to stop so he doesn’t fuck up his elbow worse. Fucking dirty old man. I left as soon as that started. Katsudon’s going to have a fun couple of days, ha.”

Jonas gave a horrified laugh at the thought of either of his parents stripping. He’d have to bleach his brain if he ever saw that. He was glad to hear Yuri’s dad would be alright, though. 

Yuri reached down beside himself and pulled out a rather large bottle of vodka.

“It’s not Pshenichnaya,” he commented, examining the bottle, “but it will do for tonight.”

“You got a fake ID?” Jonas queried.

“What? Why would I need a fake ID?” Yuri sat up and grabbed a mug off the desk by his computer. He eyed the bottom with a scowl, then shrugged. Unscrewing the cap of the vodka, he poured a generous amount into it.

“You’re 21?”

“ _ Mudak _ , I’m 22.” He tossed back the alcohol in his mug and poured himself some more. Jonas had always thought he looked a bit older than he himself was, but hadn’t really considered how  _ much  _ older. “I was too busy to go to school before Katsudon made me apply. I’m usually too busy for this” and he held up the mug “but with Victor injured, I have tomorrow off. Fuck this week. Fuck everything. I’m getting drunk. American drinking laws are stupid. Do you have a mug?” He proffered the bottle. 

Jonas got up and rinsed out his toothbrush cup. Life as a student was so glamorous. Yuri poured him a measure, more than Jonas suspected he could handle in a  _ night _ , let alone as merely a first drink. Jonas texted Mikkel and Dave to come to the room  _ right now,  _ they had to witness this. They hurried upstairs and knocked a few minutes later.

Yuri finished what was in his mug and poured a third, then a fourth. He was more than happy to share with the others, but they were more than happy to stay conscious.

A drunken Yuri was an emotional Yuri. Yuri was often emotional when he was sober, but those emotions tended to be limited to a narrow spectrum, one end labelled “contempt” and the other end labelled “rage”. Drunk Yuri babbled at him in Russian and insisted on showing Jonas every picture on his phone. There were a lot of cats, and a lot of a dark, serious man with vaguely Asian features. There were even a couple of his dad and his husband - Yuri sounded disgusted as he showed them those photos, but his face was fonder than they thought was possible. Drunk Yuri gesticulated wildly and whispered at them in Russian. Drunk Yuri was also affectionate. He hugged them each over and over, thanking them for protecting him and saving him from his stalkers. He gave Jonas an extra hug (which almost crushed him - fuck but Yuri was strong) for telling him where the hospital was. Which made Mikkel get all worried and ask Yuri what had happened and was he ok. Whereupon Yuri had to explain the whole afternoon to him and Dave, and it sounded like Jonas’ part in it was more dramatic than it probably had been but Yuri was talking in Russian again and they weren’t entirely sure.

Drunk Yuri was an incomprehensible one-man show.

It took all three of them to eventually pour him into his own bed around midnight. Mikkel grabbed the mug, now pretty much sterile from the alcohol, and filled it with water. He put it on the desk, out of reach but available, and put some painkillers beside it. Dave went and bought three bottles of water from the vending machine and set them out on the floor by the head of the bed. The bottle of vodka, now half empty, was put out of sight in the closet. Jonas threw a blanket over him, said good night to the others, and turned out the light.

 

***

 

Jonas envied his roommate. He liked him, but he envied him as well. Yuri’s slender frame hid a deceptively muscular body, and his long hair, grace, and fashion earned him admirers of all genders. Jonas was accustomed, however, to his own unassuming appearance so it didn’t bother him  _ too  _ much. He  _ really _ envied Yuri his lighter course schedule, but he had to admit that technically his full course load was his own fault. 

A second week-long vacation in the middle of term, however, was just beyond the pale. 

“Dude, how are you going to finish your courses if you're in France for a week? Are you crazy, travelling again right before exams?”

Yuri tried to look worried about that and failed. Instead, he ended up grinning like a shark. “I wait all year for this. I get to see my enemy and crush him. Again. It's gonna be great.” He finished putting the last of his things into his suitcase.

“Have a good week, Jo. Don't touch my shit while I'm gone, and tell Mikkel I'll kick his Yoshi-loving ass when I get back.”

In point of fact, when Yuri got back a week later, he seemed ready to kick  _ everyone’s _ asses. Jonas had never seen him like that - he thought his roommate was terrifying the night Zach had woken him during orientation, but that paled compared to the rage he displayed when he got back. The door slammed open and a slender, blond wave of fury entered their room. It was followed by Yuri’s dad.

Yuri hurled his suitcase to the floor and spun around to face the man behind him.

“5:30, old man!” he growled. “And don't you dare laugh at me! I never want to hear about Paris ever again. I swear I will cut your throats with my back-up knife shoes if you or the pig bring it up. And then I'll piss in the wound. You help me destroy him or we're through, I swear it.”

“Really, Yura, you've lost before,” his father replied, unruffled.

“Not to that, that  _ jobard jappant _ ! Never again, do you hear me,  _ blyad _ ? I will never stand lower than that…” and his voice trailed off into spluttering noises, too enraged to form words.

His dad reached out and ruffled his hair. Jonas could have told him that it was not the right move at that particular moment. Without thought, Yuri hauled back and punched him in the gut. Or he would have, but the elder Russian smoothly sidestepped. Perhaps he wasn’t as foolish as Jonas thought. He was certainly as agile as his son. Yuri stood there panting. 

Victor shook his head at the younger man. “You know I am going to do everything I can. You know I am, and so will Yuuri. As soon as his courses end, he’ll join us full-time. Anyway, I'm going to leave you to your rage for the night. I’ll see you in the morning, Yura. I have a husband I haven't seen in a week, after all.” And he smiled salaciously.

Jonas’ roommate was shaking with anger. “5:30, old man. I don’t care how late you and the pig keep each other up. Now fuck off. You're revolting.”

“That is  _ precisely  _ the right verb,” Victor chirped as he sauntered out the door, throwing Jonas a quick wink as he went.

Yuri made a retching noise as dug out his toiletries. “He is so gross. I’m showering,” he told Jonas shortly. “Then I’m sleeping. I’m not going to be around much for the rest of term. Tell Mikkel and Dave I have something more important to do than Mario Kart.” And he left. Jonas had established a friendship with the angry Russian by not asking questions. As much as he wanted to find out what the hell had happened in Paris, he wasn’t going to risk turning Yuri’s rage on himself.

The next morning, he was gone as usual. He returned later than usual, though. That pattern continued through the week, and on Saturday morning Jonas woke to find Yuri gone as usual. 

He stomped into the dining hall around 11, grabbing a coffee and slumping down into a chair beside Jonas, who had been studying his organic chemistry notes.

“Good, you’re here.”

Jonas was surprised. He hadn’t expected to be acknowledged so positively.

“Is there a workout room in this stupid dorm?” Yuri demanded.

“Uhh… yeah. Yeah, there is. There’s no machines or anything in it, though, so it’s not good for much. Just some mats, a mirrored wall, and probably, like, some step class benches or something.”

“Perfect. You’re going to show me where it is.”

“Um, okay. Maybe after lunch?

Yuri looked like he might object, but settled back into his chair with a grunt. “Fine.” He pulled out his phone and began texting while he drank his coffee. 

Jonas made himself ignore the blond opposite him and finish the section of notes he was on. Finals were approaching and he was anxious. Organic chemicals all just blurred together at him. So. many. carbons.

Finally he pushed himself back. “Alright, let’s go. You’re just going to sit here until I show you, aren’t you?”

“ _ Da _ ,” his roommate replied. “But… we should eat first.”

Jonas cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m not stupid,” Yuri said with a defensive growl.

They grabbed trays and selected their lunches, returning to the table. The two roommates ate in silence. Yuri was scowling at a second coffee when Jonas put his fork down with a sigh.

“Come on, Yuri. It’s in the basement on the other side.”

Jonas led the way out of the dining hall and down a stairwell. The workout room was small and had only two small windows near the ceiling. A tattered old punching bag hung in the corner, and an assortment of old aerobic equipment was piled by the door. Yuri grunted in satisfaction.

“It’ll do,” he said, and pulled his sweatshirt over his head. He pulled off his shoes, then untied and kicked off his sweatpants, tossing both items by the pile of equipment. Finally he removed his socks, and turned to thank Jonas for showing him the room.

Jonas’ eyes were wide and he wore an expression of horror. Yuri’s body was covered in bruises. From livid red and purple to sickly, faded yellow and every possible shade in between, his skin was mottled wherever the workout shorts and tank failed to cover him. His feet were wrapped in bandages around the arch and heel, blood staining the gauze in at least two places. He was missing two toenails.

Yuri saw his face, looked down at his body, and slumped. “ _ Govno _ ,” was all he said.

Jonas shook himself slightly. “ _ Yuri, what on earth happened to you? _ ” he whispered.

His roommate just shrugged. “You’re going to have to wait till I get Mikkel and Dave down here, because I’m not going over this more than once.”

Jonas watched as Yuri called Mikkel and Dave in turn and asked them to come to the workout room because he needed to talk. He’d explain when they got there, but would they please come? They waited in awkward silence until two sets of footsteps could be heard hurrying down the hallway outside.

“Jonas, what-” Mikkel’s voice cut off as he entered the room, Dave right behind him.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You got jumped?”

At that, Yuri snorted. “No. Okay, fine, you’re here. Now I can do this once, because I really don’t give a shit about anyone else in this stupid dorm. But you guys, you are fun to game with. You helped hide me from stalkers I told you were dangerous without asking questions. And, well, you keep trying to spend time with me even though I’m not really a nice person, not like the Katsudon. 

“I’m a figure skater. Not some pathetic amateur doing figure-eights on the public rink. I am Yuri Plisetsky, the current defending champion at the Grand Prix series and the Worlds. When I was 15 I set the world record for the men’s short program. I’ve broken other records since. I am the best, the Ice Tiger of Russia, and I am famous.” He sighed.

“And I am covered in bruises which I am too tired to bother hiding because I lost a qualifying event a week and a half ago to the most annoying being on the planet, a fucking Canadian who I’m not even going to name. It will not happen again. I’m modifying my program to up my score and crush the  _ jongleur jaloux _ .

“The Katsudon is the only skater ever to land a quad axle. The geezer is trying to teach me, but he’s never done it either.”

“Dude, what?” It was Dave. Jonas admired his eloquence.

Yuri gave a frustrated growl. “Katsudon was a skater before he retired last season. His idiot of a husband was too, but he retired a couple of years ago. He still holds the record for the longest winning streak. He’s my coach now while Katsudon goes back to school for whatever shitty reason he has. Figuring out this stupid jump would be easier if he didn’t have finals coming up and could just teach me himself. Victor never did it, and I’m stuck with  _ him _ . And he won’t let me keep practicing today because he’s worried I’m exhausting myself or some bullshit. And it would be easier if the ISU didn’t have a stupid rule about the dose of T I’m allowed to take, which is fucking  _ low  _ because it’s ‘fair’. Fucks. I landed a quad when I was twelve, I can do this despite them.”

Jonas rather felt he’d gotten off topic. 

“Okay, back up,” he managed. “You’re from some magical figure skating family, and you look like you got jumped by an entire football team because you keep trying to do some jump?”

“ _ Auuuuuugh! _ ” Yuri shouted. “ _ They are not my dads! _ Victor is my coach and I thank my grandmother’s ghost  _ every fucking day _ he’s not related to me! He is the  _ second  _ most annoying human on the planet. He makes fucking dad jokes at every opportunity. And Katsudon lets him.”

“B-but…” Jonas stuttered, “I asked him if he was your old man and you said yes. You call him ‘old man’ all the time.”

“He’s a fucking geezer. What did you think I meant?”

“Um, that he’s your dad? Shit, this is like the ‘beating a dead horse’ thing again. Yuri, in America your ‘old man’ means your dad.” He braced himself for another outburst like the day Dave explained the katsudon pun, but Yuri just sank bonelessly to the floor and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook.

Mikkel awkwardly sat down beside him and reached out to pat his back. His face said he knew he was risking losing his arm, but he was determined anyway.

To their shock, Yuri lifted up his head and tears of laughter were streaming down his face. “ _ Jebat moi lisiy cherep _ , I'm pathetic. I cannot fucking believe this. I've been calling Katsudon a winner and Victor my dad. For years. I can't believe this. You guys. You guys have fucking made my life.”

They had more questions, but they were going to have to wait until Yuri calmed down. It was a good ten minutes that they sat there waiting. Finally his breathless laughter switched to audible howls, and then to occasional chuckles he still couldn't quite suppress. When he looked like he was largely in control again, Dave spoke up.

“You're a professional figure skater.”

“Yes.”

“Your dad is not actually your dad.”

“Fuck no. Victor is my coach. Yuuri isn't my coach officially, but he works with Victor.”

Mikkel raised a hand. Then he noticed himself and looked a bit embarrassed. “And, uh, you've won a lot of medals?”

“Gold in Pyeongchang, two golds at Worlds, three at Europeans, and two Grand Prix Finals. Since my senior debut when I was 15, I have missed the podium in an international competition only twice. The only reason I haven't matched Victor's five year winning streak is I have better competition than he did. When he had the Katsudon and me to compete against, he couldn't count on the win.”

He spoke matter of factly, as if he didn't even need pride in such a resumé. A small, private smile curled his lips. “And my boyfriend has kicked my butt a few times too.”

“Boyfriend?” Jonas gaped, as one or two things fell into place. “Is  _ that _ who you Skype with in Russian on the weekends?”

_ Now _ Yuri looked proud. “Otabek Altin is Kazakhstan’s champion skater. He's also a fucking fantastic DJ. You guys should listen to him. I’ll send you a link to his stream.”

They were silent again, processing all of this.

Yuri shifted a little. “Anyway, no one attacked me. I just fall. A lot. On ice. More right now than usual, because of the jump. And I’m down here so I can keep working on my performance elements even if the geezer won’t let me skate today.

“Don’t tell anyone else about me, though. I mean it. Not even your parents, please. I wasn’t joking last month about the stalkers. I, uh, have a fan club. They call themselves ‘Angels,’ but they’re dangerous. They really have tracked me down by smell before. At competitions there’s security so I’m mostly safe, but they will put me in the hospital if there’s enough of them and they get in a fight over me.” His voice was pleading. “They don’t know I’m here. My records here have a different name on them. Victor is an annoying fucking asshole, but he was right that moving here might hide me for a while.

“Um. They’re kind of why I never said anything, even when I figured you were okay guys. And then the dinner happened, and fuck no I wasn’t going to risk that.”

He stood. “I’m going to practice now, so you might want to leave before I accidentally kick one of you in the fucking face.”

“Um.” Mikkel coughed. “Yuri, please don’t kick me in the face. You are terrifying and I couldn’t really stop you, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t. You need to come upstairs with us and be Bastion for a while. Dude, look at yourself.”

“I can’t,” Yuri insisted. “I need to practice. I can’t lose at the finals. I can’t handle JJ beating me. That  _ govnosos  _ has never apologised for calling me ‘lady’, not once.”

“Yuri,” Dave broke in, “you won’t beat him if you work yourself into a coma. Maybe your d… coach… is right. You need a break before, well,  _ you  _ break. Jonas has told us how early you’re gone and how late you get back. You’re gonna kill yourself, and then who’s going to beat this JJ jerk?”

Yuri gave Jonas the stink eye, but did not kick him, in the face or otherwise.

“They’re right,” he told his roommate. “I shouldn’t have showed you were the room was. We’re going to make you come upstairs, and we’re going to play Overwatch for the rest of the afternoon. And then after dinner, you’re going to tell us how we can help you kick this dude’s ass.”

 

***

 

Jonas’ alarm clock blared obnoxiously at him. He smacked his bedside table a few times in search of the OFF button before finding it. He pulled on his glasses and flicked on his lamp.

After a trip to the kitchen and one to the bathroom, he sat back into his bed and pulled open his laptop. It was 4am at home with his family, but 11am in Rome, and the men’s free skate was about to begin. He clicked the link for the livestream.

Two days ago he had tried to sneak away before Christmas dinner was over so he could watch his roommate compete in the short program. His mom hadn’t been pleased, but they’d compromised and Jonas had brought his laptop down so he could watch in the living room and still pretend to be having Christmas with his family. Which was an event that happened every year, and he’d been with them all day already. His roommate was competing in one of the biggest international figure skating events and he wasn’t going to miss it.

Yuri had brought his friends to the rink where he practiced one afternoon and shown them his routines. After exams, they all had a bit more time. Yuri wasn’t good with verbal displays of friendship, but they recognised the privilege of watching him practice for what it was. 

The interactions between Yuri and his coaches were completely different from what they had seen previously. Only Jonas had witnessed Yuri and the Katsudon sharing lunches, so Mikkel and Dave were expecting the same contempt and annoyance Yuri usually displayed. All three were serious and professional, tossing technical terms around and arguing obscure regulations minutiae. Yuri ran through his short program for them, leaving them gaping at his grace and flexibility.

The Katsudon took the ice to demonstrate what they were calling a step sequence, and Jonas’ jaw dropped as he flew across the arena, feet changing positions too fast to see. Yuri practiced this for a while. Then he and the Katsudon, on the other side of the ice, talked quietly for a half hour - a very boring half hour - pointing to various muscle groups on the lower halves of their bodies and bouncing up and down a handful of times. They were checking their phones and waiting for something to happen when Victor, who had been leaning against the boards beside them, got their attention, patting Jonas on the arm urgently.

Jonas, Mikkel, and Dave looked up in time to watch their friend begin a long arc around the ice, gathering speed, and then launch himself spinning in the air. He crashed down, hard, on the ice. Jonas winced.

Yuri got back up and jumped straight up in the air, whooping. He had a huge grin on his face and danced a little where he stood. The Katsudon was cheering as well, and Victor was skating out to embrace the younger man. He picked him up and spun in a circle, laughing. Yuri permitted it. He even hugged both men.

The three grinning men skated toward them at last. “I did it!” shouted Yuri, beaming. “Suck on  _ that _ , JJ!”

Their confusion must have shown, because the Japanese Yuuri laughed and explained “That’s the first time he’s managed enough rotations for a quad axle. It’s the most difficult jump and worth the most points in the scoring system. No one else currently competing can do it. I don’t even think  _ I _ can do it anymore, and I’ve been retired less than a year. Even if he falls during a competition, the rotations he achieved are still worth a huge number of points. And he  _ will  _ land it.” Yuri grinned.

The three non-skaters had banded together to help their friend through the final weeks of preparation for his exams and the Grand Prix Finals. They dragged Yuri into the servery at the dining hall and made arrangements with the supervisor there that one of them would pick up a meal for Yuri each weeknight, so he’d have something to eat when he came back late. Dave, who was in computer science, met Yuri during his mid-day breaks to help him go over his physics coursework. (He told Jonas privately that Yuri had a better knack for it than he did, just less experience.) Mikkel had volunteered to help Yuri with his laundry, since he was in Classical Studies and couldn’t help with coursework, but Yuri had grinned and said Victor did it for him already, but thanks. That had solved a major mystery for his roommate, who had never seen the Russian do any laundry, despite his continued supply of clean clothes.

Before they all went home for Christmas after their exams, Yuri had taken them out for dinner again, this time wearing a wig. Victor and the Katsudon had come too. They hadn’t been interrupted by anything, and the food was fantastic, at least in their limited experience. The three skaters had shown them videos of previous routines. Victor had pulled up a video - “Yura’s first exhibition skate as a senior!” - which had earned him a solid punch in the arm from a bright red Yuri. 

“No, no, Yura! It was wonderful!” he gushed. “So unique and heartfelt!”

Japanese Yuuri was struggling not to laugh, and Jonas’ roommate was hissing furiously at them in Russian. In the end, he managed to grab Victor’s phone off of him and pocket it, promising he could have it back later, as if Victor was a kid caught texting during math class. 

The food was fantastic, but watching their friend relaxing with his coaches, that was the best. It was hard to imagine him ever properly hating them, despite his insults and swearing. They each found themselves glad to have ignored the griping of dorm-mates who hadn’t taken the time to get to know their Yuri.

Jonas, watching the final now in his bedroom, waited as other, less skilled skaters danced through their routines, falling or not, with varying degrees of musicality to their movements. He watched skeptically as the Canadian called “JJ” went through a bombastic routine and threw gang signs as his score was displayed. Yuri’s boyfriend, Otabek, skated next. His routine was fluid, the music martial. His entirely untrained opinion was that it was amazing.

Finally, his roommate skated into the centre of the rink and took a pose. His costume was an iridescent suit of greys, browns, and whites in streaks. The music began, a slow, drawn out vocal piece in what sounded like French. Yuri’s movements were broad and slow, reflecting the music perfectly. Suddenly the music picked up speed and Yuri moved into his first jump. The music was fast-paced from there and sung in a round. Yuri flew through the sequence he’d demonstrated for them with Yuuri. Then his roommate jumped and the audience roared. The commentators were howling. “A quad axle! That was listed as a quad flip, but it's an axle! He touched down, but that makes Yuri Plisetsky only the second skater in history to land a quad axle! His coach, Victor Katsuki-Nikiforov, is married to the only other skater to land a ratified quad axle, Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, who retired earlier this year. We can only assume he had a hand in coaching Plisetsky this season as well!” Jonas was mesmerised as the routine continued through several more jumps. His roommate spun himself in an impossible series of poses as the song whirled to a conclusion. 

Jonas cheered loudly enough that his mom stomped down the hallway to tell him to shut up at such an ungodly hour. He barely noticed. He did try to keep it down as the scores were announced and Yuri took the gold. His boyfriend got bronze, coming after a slight, animated man from Thailand (Thailand had skaters? Really?).

Since Yuri was the gold medal winner and lander of a quad axle, he was the first item on the agenda of the press conference after the medal ceremony. Jonas was glad he had stayed watching when he heard Yuri switch from Russian to English in response to a reporter’s question.

“It’s been a rocky season for me. And a season of personal growth. I am here not just because of my own efforts, but because of the dedication of my coaches and the support of my friends, people who have stuck with me and helped me for no other reason than they cared about me. It has humbled me, and I am grateful to them.”

There was more but Jonas couldn’t focus on it. If his parents had walked in on him then, he would have blamed the dampness in his eyes on the half-night of sleep he’d had.

His phone buzzed. 

 

**Mikkel:** Guys, did you catch that??

**Jonas:** When we get back, we’re not letting him forget he said that.

**Dave:** *smug* Good thing I was making a copy as it streamed.

**J:** Dude, you are the best. He’s going to hate us.

**D:** But we’ll get to learn more Russian swears!

**M:** You guys are terrible.

**M:** But you’re right. 

**M:** I’m pretty sure he won’t even kick us in the face.

 

Jonas laughed. He couldn’t wait for the exhibition skate the next day. Yuri had shown him his costume and music, and it was gonna be  _ great _ .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to my wife yet again for her invaluable suggestions and criticisms. This story wouldn't be half so good without you, _amor meus_.
> 
> I love Yurio so much. He's such a brilliant character, just brilliantly conceived and written. While I love to laugh at stories where he's just a conceited ball of rage, I feel like there's so much more to him. I tried to capture some of that; I hope I succeeded at least a bit. I wanted, even more so, to write trans-masculine Yurio. I identify as cis, but I tried to write trans Yurio sensitively and respectfully. I did have a trans-identifying beta reader (my wife says it's okay if I say it's her), but everyone's experience is so individual. Kubo has stated that Yuri on Ice takes place in a world without homophobia. I wanted to extend that to transphobia as well, hence why Jonas isn't shocked and doesn't really react much to figuring out his roomie is trans, and why it's not really a focus of the story. I did make the ISU a bit of a pain in the butt about testosterone because, well, major bodies like that tend to err on the side of caution on everything, whether it's warranted or not. This is also the main source of Yuri's antagonism toward JJ (who I don't think had any idea what he was insinuating when he told Yuri "Ladies first" during the show).
> 
> I have no experience with the American college system. I didn't even try. The Greek system is worse than Greek to me - I actually have a better idea how the language works. Sorry, Americans, if that ruins this for you. The dining hall, rooms, and facilities available to Yuri and his friends are based on my experiences in various dorms so your mileage may vary there. Yuuri and Yuri official attend Indeterminate University somewhere in the PAC-NW.
> 
> I tried my best on the Russian here, but translating idiom and metaphor is difficult even when you know what you're doing. I apologise in advance for anything I mangled.
> 
> The poster Yuri hangs in his room is taken from [this epic program by Stéphane Lambiel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwO542dGDH4) (who, don't forget, is canonically part of the Yuri on Ice universe). Be still my heart.
> 
> The song he uses for his free skate is total self-indulgence. I've uploaded it here - [J'ai Vu Le Loup, as performed by Le Bon Vent](https://youtu.be/W4L9D_16R6I).
> 
> Translations:  
> Papochka - Papa/daddy, dimunitive (Russian)  
> Baka - Idiot (Japanese)  
> Zabavnyy - Funny (Russian)  
> Koty - Cats (Russian)  
> Kuso - Shit (Japanese)  
> Spasibo - Thank you (Russian)  
> Jobard Jappant - the Yapping Fool (French)  
> Jongleur Jaloux - the Jealous Jester (French)


	2. Outtakes 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Director's Cut/Outtakes for Idio(ma)tic. Stuff that mainly didn't fit in because of the POV restrictions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First pair of outtakes. I was going to put them all up at once, but I got impatient. There will be a few more to follow.
> 
> Sarah, this is for you. All for you. <3

**The Poster**

 

“Yuuuri!” sang Vitya. That tone always meant trouble.

***

It was Otabek’s fault. The Kazakh skater didn’t do it on purpose, but it was his fault nonetheless. He had called for help, and they couldn’t refuse him because it was for Yurio. Victor and Yuuri both loved Yurio. He was foul and angry and an outsider would perhaps have been worried by the frequency of his physical assaults on them, but he was family and they loved him.

When Otabek called from Kazakhstan and explained he wanted to get his boyfriend a present for his move to America but needed help, Yuuri agreed before even asking what he wanted from them.

That might have been a mistake.

Yuuri had had to explain the request to Vitya, who had sat silently in thought for almost an hour.

“That’s a big favour to ask,” he finally said.

Yuuri nodded. “Otabek knows, and he knows he’d never be able to get it himself. He’s hoping you might be able.”

“I probably can. I don’t know what I’ll have to promise to get it, but I’ll ask. If it wasn’t for Yurio, though…”

Yuuri nodded again. “We are basically dragging him to America. And Otabek has never asked for anything from us before.”

“Alright,” Vitya sighed. “Hand me the phone.” 

*** 

An hour later, Yuuri anxiously sat and listened as Victor said _au revoir_ to his old friend. He’d begun the conversation with a cheerful greeting in French, then got down to business. Yuuri’s command of French was passable if it was spoken slowly and enunciated clearly, but Vitya was fluent enough to converse at the rapid pace of a native speaker.

He listened as Vitya’s tone moved from cheerful to serious, to apologetic and then wheedling. Finally he smiled brilliantly and nodded enthusiastically. Five minutes of grateful Francophone noises followed, and then he hung up.

“Yuuuri!” sang Vitya. That tone always meant trouble.

“Yes?” he replied cautiously.

“He agreed! He drove a hard bargain, though. Guess where you’re going this May!”

Yuuri groaned. “Me? Why me? And where?”

“Tokyo!” Vitya beamed. “And why you because he says I can’t really teach anything he can’t. But you get to go and teach his students some more advanced step sequences!” Vitya frowned. “I should feel insulted by that, shouldn’t I?”

Yuuri shrugged. He was worried by the feeling that there was more.

“Oh, but there’s something you have to do while you’re there. Something about a fair trade. Um.” Vitya looked a little sheepish. “I tried to talk him out of it, I promise. I really did.”

“What, Vitya? What is it?”

“Um. He wants you to bring him a signed _dakimakura_ of yourself.”

Yuuri made a strangled sound.

“He absolutely refuses unless you do. He won't take one of me. _Zolotse_ , it’s for Yurio. You’re doing this for Yurio.”

He finally nodded. “Otabek _owes_ me,” he whispered.

***

Two weeks later, a long, slender tube arrived in the mail. Vitya might have opened it himself, but his husband grabbed it from his hands and hit him with it.

“I get to open it,” Yuuri declared. “I’m the one who has to sell his soul for it.”

Carefully, he cut the packing tape and worked the end of the tube off. He gently slid the rolled up paper out and spread it on the kitchen table.

Looking down at the autographed poster-sized print of Vitya’s friend Stéphane Lambiel, semi-crouched in a spin in one of his earliest - and most ill-advised - costumes, Yuuri thought for the first time that perhaps, just perhaps, he’d gotten off lightly.

 

 

* * *

  
  


**Otabek is Good for Yuri**

 

Yuri took the lid off the coffee and added all four creamers and both sugar packets. On the screen, his boyfriend watched.

“You have been complaining about having a roommate for the past half hour, Yura. But he just brought you a coffee and left you so you could talk with me.”

Yuri made an annoyed sound. “Beka, I've been responsible for my family since I was a child. I moved out of Yakov’s house as soon as I could legally sign a lease. I like my space, okay? You know me better than that.”

Otabek nodded. “Of course I do, Yura. But you are sharing a room regardless. They didn't give you a choice. I'll listen to you blow off steam any time you need, but have you noticed that you complain about having to have a roommate, rather than him in particular? What's his name, anyway?”

“Jonas,” Yuri grunted, unwilling to cede yet.

“Jonas. Does he wake you up when you're sleeping? I'm guessing not, since he’s still walking.” The dark man’s voice and face were serious, but Yuri was accustomed to his boyfriend's deadpan sense of humour and blushed.

“That was one time!” he protested.

“Kotenok, I had to get an x-ray. My point is, he could be worse. Batima's roommate when she went to Qaraghandy was allergic to coming home before 2am. Drunk. She only managed to get a room change after a month, and only because her roommate stole her jeans. Your Jonas has been your roommate for a week and he brought you a coffee. Does he shower?”

“How would I know!” Yuri answered. “I leave for practice at 6:30 and come back at 9. He doesn’t stink, so probably?”

“Yura, you are stuck with this for the year. You’re stuck with _him_ . You don’t have to be friends, but give him a chance to _earn_ his way into your bad books.”

The Russian sunk into his chair. “Okay, he’s not awful. It’s not his fault this stupid university has such stupid policies, or that Katsudon had to come _here_ of all places.” He sipped his coffee again.

“Did I tell you someone did wake me up this week? At one in the fucking morning?”

Otabek raised an eyebrow.

“You’d be proud of me, _mishka_. He was able to leave the hallway on his own two feet. All of them were.”

His boyfriend chuckled once.

“The residence director is making me write an apology, though. I did kind of miss his face by only a couple of inches. Do you want to hear my letter?”

“ _Da_. Of course. You know I love how you write.”

“Dear Zach. Even though residents should not be making noise after 11pm, that is no excuse for damaging the wall behind your head. I’m sorry my dainty ballerina foot scared you. I promise I will never kick you in the face, even if you wake me up when I have to be awake at 5:30 in the morning. I should have more self-control than to not quite physically abuse you. I didn’t know I would scare you so badly that you would need to rat me out. P.S. I do not have any shoe polish, so that threat was pretty empty.”

The two men stared at each other for a second before cracking up.

Yuri got himself under control finally. “Alright, _mishka_ , I’ll try to give him a chance. He won’t earn my instant friendship by pulling up on a bike and rescuing me from the angels, but he did give me earplugs and a coffee.

“I’m gonna go now, try to explore campus a bit and find my classrooms before lunch. Talk to you again next Saturday? _Ya lyublyu tebya_ , Beka.”

“ _Da. I ya tebya_ , Yura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really, really need to see the [Cat Skate Routine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwO542dGDH4). Please. You won't regret it. This goes double if you wonder why YOI!Lambiel would set such a price.
> 
> Translations:  
> Dakimakura - a life-sized pillow printed with an anime (or other celebrity) person on it (Japanese)  
> Zolotse - gold[en one] (Russian)  
> Qaraghandy - [Qaraghandy State Medical University](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karaganda_State_Medical_University) in Kazakhstan  
> Kotenok - kitten (Russian/Kazakh)  
> Mishka - bear (dimunitive, Russian)  
> Ya lyublyu tebya - I love you (Russian)
> 
> With grateful thanks to [The_Singing_Slipper](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Singing_Slipper/pseuds/The_Singing_Slipper) for correcting some fairly egregious translation errors.


	3. Outtakes 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second set of outtakes based on Idio(ma)tic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably it for this one. It's time to move on to the second-to-last story in this series. You can probably guess who it will be about!
> 
> If you enjoy, do leave a comment or come find me on tumblr!

**Not Even the Strangest Scene This Week**

 

The door of the Walgreens was automatic. As such, it could not be slammed open. Tonight, Charleen thought that this was unfair. Most days she would have thanked every god she’d ever heard of that it slid open silently for each customer. But tonight it was the only thing missing from the scene when a young 20-something guy raced into the store and up to her makeup counter.

“Where's the perfume?” He demanded with wild eyes and panic in his voice. “I need perfume right now. Or cologne. I don't care. It just has to be strong.”

“Just down aisle three, sir,” she chirped with her best customer service smile. As he turned to run down the indicated aisle, her smile disappeared and she just watched him curiously. He had a slender frame and long blond hair, making him physically distinctive. It was the aura of panic about him that really interested her, however.

She watched as he quickly scanned the fragrances on offer and grabbed a large blue box. Charleen had the impression he hadn’t even read the label. 

She quickly pasted her smile back on as he turned to address her again.

“Hats,” he said. “Where can I find a hat?”

“Aisle twelve, sir,” she pointed.

He bolted off along the centre pathway of the store toward aisle twelve. He was moving so quickly she thought he was for sure going to hit the display of Christmas-themed stuffies in the middle of the path, but he dodged gracefully and she blinked in surprise.

There wasn’t much going on in the makeup department that evening, so Charleen just watched to see when he’d reappear. Seconds later, he did. He was holding a bright red baseball cap. His eyes kept darting around, as if looking for someone. She felt a bit like an extra in an overly dramatic spy film. The Russian accent really sold it.

He got in line, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Charleen kept her face carefully neutral as she noted who was ahead of him in the line: Mrs Mills. Mrs Mills was a regular, and at Christmas she would bring in a large tray of handmade cakes and sweets for the staff. She always stopped to ask how everyone was doing, how their families were, how their pets were. Charleen could script the upcoming transaction to a word. An octogenarian, she used the resentful tolerance granted to her by her age to shameless advantage. Pete was going to have to scan each box of kleenex individually, then each pack of gum. Then she would insist on a price check for something that had probably been on sale last week, all while insisting she didn’t want to be a bother, dear. She would fish around the bottom of her purse until she found the exact change, “to make it easier for you, dear.” Then she would refuse to budge until she had examined every line of her receipt because “these modern machines make mistakes you know.” She was the sweetest old lady Charleen had ever met, and the staff collectively despised her.

Sighing, she called “Sir!”

The blond looked up, uncertain who she was addressing.

“Sir!” she called again, gesturing. “I can check you out here if you’d like.”

He looked so relieved as he ran over that she was almost embarrassed.

Her machine beeped as Charleen rang through the items. “That will be $87.69, sir.”

He took out a hundred dollar bill, handed it to her, and picked up his items. He grabbed his hair and twisted it up on top of his head, stuffing the baseball cap over it, then tucked the rest of his hair up under. He tore open the cologne box and handed it back to her.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem, sir,” she said, still smiling, as she took the box to put in the garbage. “If you feel like filling out our customer satisfaction survey, you could win a gift card. The code is here on your receipt.” She passed over his change and the receipt, which he jammed into his pocket.

Then he ran out of the store.

Charleen watched through the glass shopfront as he systematically sprayed the entire bottle of cologne over every part of his body. He was really quite flexible. He even sprayed his shoes. Thank  _ god  _ he hadn’t tried to do that inside.

Finally, he tossed the empty cologne bottle in the garbage by the door and turned to face the store, head tucked down, hands in pockets. He just stood there for five minutes or so until three other young men ran up beside him. They had a brief, urgent-looking conversation, which concluded with the other three huddling around her customer.

Finally, the drama concluded when a black sedan pulled up beside them. Looking around furtively, they bolted into the car and drove off.

Charleen sighed. She’d had whole  _ minutes  _ of entertainment from the panicked blond. Now she didn’t have any excuse to avoid restocking the nail polishes.

***

When her manager showed her the customer satisfaction results at the end of the week, Charleen knew immediately who had given her the “EXCELLENT SERVICE. CHARLEEN SAVED MY LIFE. GIVE HER A RAISE. GIVE HER A PROMOTION.” comment. She hadn’t expected to be as memorable to her customer as he’d been to her. How nice.

 

* * *

 

 

**Handling Defeat**

 

As soon as his student’s score was announced, Victor felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find his best friend’s serious face looking down at him. “Victor,” Chris said, “he’s going to need to be very drunk very soon.”

Victor looked to his other side, where Yurio sat stone-faced.

He raised an eyebrow up at his friend.

“Trust me,” Chris said. “Get him out of the interviews as quickly as you can.”

***

Chris set six full shot glasses on the table where Victor and Yurio were sitting. “Tonight’s on us,” he told the younger man with a grim smile. Yurio reached out and downed one shot, then another. 

“ _ Spasibo _ .”

Chris pushed a third in Yurio’s direction. Victor grabbed for one for himself, not sure why Chris’ mood was so serious. This wasn’t the first time his student had won silver, or even bronze. He trusted his Swiss friend, however, so following Chris’ lead, he passed a twenty-euro note to Yurio and jerked his head in the direction of the bar. 

“Chris,” he said, after Yurio had gotten up, “what is this all about? Yura hates losing, but it’s not the first time.”

Chris rested his head in his hands. “Victor,  _ cher _ , who won the gold today?”

He frowned. “Some Canadian, I think. Why?”

“And do you ever remember seeing him before? Do you know his name?”

“No,” answered Victor, “should I?”

Chris lifted his head and gave him a look that Victor thought was  _ entirely  _ unwarranted.

“Victor, JJ Leroy has been on the international circuit for damn near a decade. You competed against him yourself before you even met Yuuri. He took bronze in Barcelona when Yura had his senior debut. You have literally met him at  _ dozens  _ of international events over the past ten years.”

“I have?”

“ _ Yes _ , Victor. And we’ve had _ this exact conversation  _ at least a dozen times.”

“Really? Hmm. Why does Yura hate him so much?”

His friend grimaced. “Best I can tell is the year Yuri had his senior debut, JJ was trash-talking like he does and told Yuri ‘Ladies first’. You can guess how he took it, especially back then.”

“What does ‘JJ’ stand for, anyway?”

“Jean Jacques,” Chris answered, in the patient and resigned tones of a man who has answered this question before and knows he will again. Yuri sat down again, holding a large tumbler of something pungently alcoholic.

“More like ‘Jackass Joke’,” The young man sneered.

“Now, Yura,” Victor chided. “Is that any way to speak of a competitor?”

Yuri’s face darkened and he opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, however, Victor continued.

“If you are going to trash talk a fellow skater, at least do it in his native language so you can be sure he understands.”

Yuri’s mouth snapped shut. He turned to Chris. “Chris, I need this. You speak French. Teach me.”

“Teach you French?”

Yuri ran his hands through his hair with a growl. “No,  _ mudak _ , just insults that begin with J.”

Chris stared for a moment and then laughed uproariously. Victor eyed Yuri, who seemed to be considering what within arms’ reach would be suitable for hitting the Swiss man with. But Chris calmed down quickly enough to prevent bloodshed.

“Alright, Yuri. Alright. But I need a drink or two more, first.”

***

Four drinks later, and Yuri had the priceless gift of some alliterative French insults for the skater who’s never once apologised for calling him a “lady”. Chris’ first contribution was  _ Jobard Jappant _ , the Yapping Fool, which makes Yuri grin like a wolf. Victor had been searching for something for his student, something perfect. He didn’t fully understand why, even then, but he knew his Yura was more upset by his loss than usual, and that was enough. 

“ _ Jongleur Jaloux! _ ” he finally shouted, having found a suitable match for “ _ jaloux _ .” And Yura, drunk, exhausted, baffling Yura  _ hugged  _ him. 

“A jester and a fool!” he crowed. “That is perfect for that  _ zalupa _ !”

Chris returned from the bar with whiskeys for them all. Victor could tell by the look on his face that he’d had another idea. 

“ _ Jaune Jonque! _ ” he shouted, setting the shots down with a flourish.

“A yellow… something?” Victor guessed.

“Junk!” Chris beamed. Then he frowned. “Really it’s a sort of boat, but in English ‘junk’ means garbage, so close enough?”

Yuri tipped his shot back. “Good enough!”

Chris was appalled. Victor reprimanded his student. “Yura, you know Chris only gets nice whiskey! Savour that like you savour these insults!” 

“Shut up, old man. I don’t care. Tonight I am  _ drinking _ .”

Victor tossed him another note. “Then go get a drink and leave the good whiskey alone.”

***

By the end of the night, the three of them were staggering, arms over each others’ shoulders, and Victor had given up trying to access his French vocabulary. Chris was just slurring together random nouns and adjectives as far as Victor could tell, but then, he was drunk too, so maybe it all made sense and he was just too drunk to understand.

“ _ Jambon Jadis! Jabot Juteux! _ ”

Yuri pulled them both up short. “Hang on, guys.” So they obligingly pulled up short.

The younger man disentangled his arms and without warning, threw his head back and screamed all the rage he hadn’t drunk away. Victor fell over backward, and Chris cackled like a Swiss jackal.

“ _ Jonquille Joufflu! _ ”

They kept walking (staggering, really) back to the hotel. Yuri stopped twice more to scream to the heavens, but Victor only fell again at the first encore.

When they got up to their floor, Chris squeezed Victor’s shoulder once before staggering off for his own room. Victor guided his very drunk student into his room, sat him on the bed, and pulled off his shoes and socks. Yuri folded over on the bed and snored, and Victor tossed the blanket on top of him.

Gently he pushed the hair back from Yuri’s forehead. “Dobroy nochi,” he whispered. “When we get home, Yuuri and I will help you kick his ass. Whatever his name is.”

 

* * *

  
  


**Friends Don’t Let Friends Get Punned**

 

Yuri kicked open the door to his room. Not because he was angry, he just had his hands full. The holiday break was over, and he was returning to his dorm in great spirits. He'd earned the gold medal at the Grand Prix Finals and spent a whole week with his boyfriend in Rome.

Jonas, his roommate and friend, was not there. The rumpled bedcovers and random socks on the floor suggested he was somewhere nearby, however. An annoyed expression crossed his face as he found himself anticipating their reunion. No need to be getting soppy, after all. Yuri tugged open his smaller bag and pulled out his newest medal, slinging it over his head and tucking it under his sweater. Checking he had his keys, he locked the door behind him and set off down the hall to locate his friends.

First was a trip to the floor below him. Yuri got a few dark looks from other residents wandering the dorm. The incident during orientation week had not garnered him any popularity. He smirked as he walked, secure in the knowledge that his world was much, much bigger than these walls and the people within them.

No one was there in Dave or Mikkel's rooms, but a helpful little "Where Am I?" sign on Mikkel's door gave him an idea where to check first. If it was accurate, anyway.

"I'm back, assholes!" he announced with a grin, entering the tv room.

His three friends spun around at the sound, someone's character dying in a hail of bullets.

Dave hit pause. The three tossed their controls down and launched themselves at Yuri, who found himself buried under three simultaneous hugs and a clamour of congratulations.

Mikkel punched Yuri lightly. “So,” he demanded. “Come on, show us.”

Yuri grinned wider and pulled the medal out from under his sweater and over his head. He passed it to Mikkel. His friends oohed and ahhed over it for a bit, then passed it back.

“That’s awesome, man,” said Jonas. “And, I noticed a certain Canadian missed the podium entirely.”

Yuri smirked. “Beka deserved to be there, not JJ. That was a pretty good podium. I still have to crush him at Worlds, though. Russian nationals went well, too. I got gold there, of course. There are some good skaters just entering the senior circuit, but they’ve got to get a bit more experience before I worry about them.”

Jonas laughed. “So how many projects or exams will you miss this term?”

Yuri shrugged. “I’ll find out when classes start, I guess.”

“Good point. Anyway, the three of us spent a lot of time texting over the holidays and we made you a Christmas-slash-congratulations present.”

Yuri was surprised. “You, uh, didn’t need to,” he said.

“Yeah,” replied Dave. “But Mikkel started it, and we kind of got on a roll. Eventually Jonas suggested we turn it into a present. I’ll email it to you now, but we have a nice copy all printed up fancy for you too.” He tapped at his phone a few times and Yuri’s phone pinged an email alert.

His three friends grinned at him in unison.

Yuri, by now quite curious, opened his emails.

It was a list. The first item was “cats who don’t”. The second was “cats udon,” followed by “Kat (Katherine??) sue Don”. He looked up at his grinning friends.

“Say them out loud, Yuri,” Jonas urged.

He gave it a try, and as the vowels and consonants rolled off his tongue, a beatific smile spread across his face.

Mikkel bounced up and down. “We made you all the puns we could think of! I bet Yuuri is so used to his name being a pun in Japanese that he's never considered any  _ English _ puns!”

“We even came up with a Nikiforov one!”

Yuri scrolled slowly through the list. Getting to the end, he raised an eyebrow.

“These are  _ awful _ , you jerks.”

“Yep!” replied Jonas. “The worse they were, the better. We figure you can just use them casually from time to time in front of Yuuri and Victor, maybe take photos of their expressions.”

The Russian’s eyes widened. “ _ Zaebis _ ,” he breathed. “Phichit.”

He silently reached out and hugged each of his friends in turn, overcome with the potential. “You have no idea what you’ve unleashed. This is going to be glorious.”

***

Jonas, Mikkel, and Dave came with him to the rink the following day. The term hadn’t started yet, so the Katsudon was going to be there with Victor to help work on Yuri’s quad axle. Yuri went in to change as his friends snuck into the rink to place themselves at strategic angles.

Yuri came out of the change room, skates slung over his shoulder, to find Yuuri and Victor - of course - kissing disgustingly by the boards. He took a breath and raised his phone, photo app at the ready.. 

“Oy!” he shouted. “You two! How about katsu _ DON’T _ !”

Brown eyes and blue swivelled in his direction, wide with confusion. CLICK.

  
**@phichit-chu** Let the pun begin. #katsudon’t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think of another "katsudon" or "Nikiforov" pun, please, _PLEASE_ share it with me. Or any clever JJ jokes.
> 
> I feel Charleen deep in my soul. (And I mostly wrote that ficlet at work, where I am a retail peon with so many of my own Mrs Mills.)
> 
> Translations:  
> Spasibo - Thank you (Russian)  
> Jobard jappant - Yapping fool (French)  
> Jongleur jaloux - Jealous juggler (French)  
> Jaune jonque - Yellow Junk (French - the adjective should really come after the noun, but it sounded too close to "Jean Jacques" for me to be a grammar stickler)  
> Jambon jadis - Long-ago ham (French)  
> Jabot juteux - Jute ruffle (French)  
> Jonquille joufflu - Chubby daffodil (French)  
> Zaebis - Holy shit (Russian)


	4. The Poster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any idea how hard it is to find even marginally recognisable stills from that routine?

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I printed it 18x24.


End file.
